Depending on the fictional work, villains have different philosophies on the relationship between good and evil. Some villains are aware of the fact that heroes are willing to go to great lengths to ensure that the forces of good and justice prevail. Others can’t comprehend the idea of a hero sacrificing themselves for the sake […]
Many of the earliest forms of written literature that exist are religious texts, and most of us at some point in our schooling will study at least one type of ancient mythology, be it Greco-Roman, Egyptian, or Norse. I happened to be fascinated with all three at the age of ten. More than once in these stories do you run into a human mortal being raised to the status of a god. There is a name for this phenomenon, and it’s called apotheosis.
One of the first things I remember from ninth grade English is discussing the origin of comedy and tragedy from the classical Greek plays. We read both Oedipus Rex and Antigone over the course of the next several years of English classes, and Shakespeare’s plays, both comic and tragic, made their way into the curriculum, as they have the tendency to in most high school English classes. I was in a production of As You Like It, one of Shakespeare’s most well-known comedies. Even in those earliest forms of literature and theater, writers played with blending the elements of tragedy and comedy together. We call these blended works tragicomedies or dramedies.
I’m a little bummed that I’ve missed my chance to see the first part of Mockingjay in theaters, since movies apparently only live in theaters for six weeks these days. (Anyone else remember when The Lion King was in theaters for like 9 months?) I enjoyed the Hunger Games trilogy a lot, but Mockingjay was probably the weakest of the three in my opinion, so I’m curious to see how the movie compares, and if any tweaks were made to the story.
This weekend, I finally got around to seeing Into the Woods. Years ago, I saw the play the film is based on with my high school drama club on Broadway. Of course, because Into the Woods is a Disney film, there were a few things from the original musical that didn’t make it to the big screen (the fate of Rapunzel, the Baker’s Wife’s encounter with Cinderella’s Prince, etc.). Despite those changes, the overall theme of the musical remained intact.
So much of what most of us consider to be good writing requires the writer to create a believable scene and realistic characters—or if not believable and realistic, close enough so that the reader willingly suspends their disbelief. Today’s article and corresponding writing practice is all about throwing those rules out the window by writing about weirdos.
With the start of 2015, everyone is in the midst of making and (hopefully) following through on their New Year’s resolutions. One of mine, in addition to going to the gym (which I’ve already hurt myself doing), is to resume journaling on a semi-regular basis. I used to be a religious journaler about five years ago, but I’ve moved away from the practice, mostly because I keep forgetting/watching episodes of the West Wing on Netflix. Since then, I’ve received two more blank journals as gifts, so I take this as a sign that the universe wants me to pick up the pen again.
If I’m being honest, I’m still not totally comfortable using “whose” for inanimate objects. I’m 100% a rephraser in that respect, and will rewrite the sentence to give it a more natural flow. However, a few of you wrote asking about using “which” in place of “whose”, and I wanted to address those questions and figure out if “which” in that case was a proper use of the word.
Today, Joe brought my attention to a strange quirk of the English language: we use “whose” for inanimate objects. It sounds so weird when you use the phrase like, “I placed the iPhone whose screen is broken in the bin,” but it’s technically grammatically correct.
It’s kind of fun when words that refer to literary techniques have their origin in other disciplines. Take kinesiology, for example. I had several friends in college who were kinesiology majors, which means that they studied the science of human movement. That general idea of movement is also reflected in today’s new literary word: kinesthesia.